


A Matter of Family

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ser Carver is sent to Chateau Haine by Meredith to babysit his brother the mage. However, he has a secret that could ruin their relationship forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theangrywarlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrywarlock/gifts).



> Another short ficlet I wrote for a prompt from my girlfriend, who I think just wanted to see Carver squirm a bit. Enjoy!

Carver shifted nervously in his plate metal armor as he stood just outside the gates of Kirkwall, waiting. The sun hadn't yet risen, the predawn sky lightening slowly, stars disappearing out of view. A slightly cool breeze ruffled his hair, yet he was sweating. He felt nauseous, his light breakfast of tea and buttered bread twisting uncomfortably in his stomach. There was nothing untoward about his mission. In fact, it was a downright vacation compared to guarding the Gallows or descending into the Undercity to look for apostates. Several of his fellow templars expressed jealousy at his attending Duke Prosper de Monfort's hunting party. That alone wasn't enough to make him nervous, though.

He knew why he was being sent. He'd graduated from his recruit status some years ago, but on the whole he was still rather green. For someone so new to the Order, playing bodyguard was a far cry from the usual grunt work they had to endure. But Carver was a Hawke, and that meant having ties to the Champion of Kirkwall, the mage who'd saved the city from a Qunari attack. He thought that joining the Templars would bring him out from under his brother's shadow when all it was doing was shoving him more firmly into it. Garrett Hawke was a mage, not to be trusted, yet he'd saved an entire city without thought of recompense. He was a hero. And his little brother? He was just another templar.

While Knight-Commander Meredith had no authority to keep his brother in the city, she could arrest him and have him tossed in the Gallows if he failed to comply with her wishes. But he didn't seem interested in defying the Knight-Commander, reporting to her weekly to check in, running whatever errands she or the First Enchanter set. He seemed fine with being her pet, and the templars often joked about it. It irritated Carver, though only because he knew his brother wouldn't care. He might even joke with them, befriending them in spite of his hatred for the Order.

But none of that caused the twisting in his gut he was feeling now. He could escort his brother to Cumberland, enjoy the party, and return to Kirkwall without batting an eye. But he knew his brother wouldn't be coming alone. There was talk of a pretty elf girl going with him – not Merrill, though Carver had mixed feelings about whether he wanted to see her again. Would she hate him for joining the Order? He hadn't spoken to her since his recruitment after all. No, this elf wasn't a mage. He could handle himself with a strange elf around. But his brother would inevitably bring the apostate.

Anders.

Just the thought of the name made him ill. He'd heard rumors that the mage moved in with his brother, into the Amell estate which by rights should have been half his. After their mother died, the inheritance should have been split. But Carver didn't ask and his brother didn't offer. Maybe if he hadn't joined the Order he would have been welcomed. Surely their mother would've made sure of it. And then what? Attending parties like Garrett? Gossiping with the nobles? It didn't suit him. He was a soldier, and without a war to fight, and the way of the City Guard closed to him, the Templar Order was where he belonged. He'd made _true_ brothers there. Keran and Hugh, who joked with him regularly, teased him. He was even getting in good with the Knight-Captain and if he kept it up, he would rise through the ranks quickly. It was his place. He was doing good work.

_"Hold him down. The silence will only last for so long with this one, Carver. You need to apply the magebane now."_

Carver gasped, the memory forcing its way to the forefront of his mind. It had been nearly three years since it happened. Nearly three years, and though the man was dead, he could still hear Alrik's cold voice, see his deadened eyes as if it was just yesterday that it happened. He closed his eyes briefly against the screams, the struggling, the warm blood as it passed over his fingers.

_No._

Alrik wasn't what the Order represented. When he turned up dead under the Gallows, they blamed an abomination of unknown origin and there was a hunt for it that resulted in not a single capture. But Carver knew what had torn Alrik's head from his body. He knew what left him roasting in his armor. And he wanted to confront his brother, to confront Anders, to get them to confess to the demon that shared the healer's soul. But he didn't. And no one seemed to care much that Alrik was dead. The man was a sadist, but the Knight-Commander turned a blind eye to his experiments.

He was Carver's mentor. Meredith had known about his brother, known the name 'Hawke' the second the Amell estate was purchased. And of course she knew he was a mage. In order to keep him in line, to make sure that Carver wasn't trying to infiltrate the Order on his brother's behalf, she put him under Alrik's watchful eye. As if Garrett would trust him with something that important. But he didn't want the Knight-Commander to become suspicious, so he followed Alrik. He regretted it, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He had to move on, and hope that his brother didn't greet him with a fist to the face.

Two large horses pulled the carriage that rolled up, and stopped before him. Carver nodded to the driver, an old man with greying hair and a scarred face. The door to the carriage opened and he winced, imagining the reception he was about to get. His brother stepped down, dressed immaculately in black pants and a coat that flared at the knee, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a dark green shirt that matched his eyes. Carver frowned. While he was roughly two inches taller than Garrett and somewhat broader, he would never have his brother's commanding presence. They stood, staring at one another for what seemed like ages. Garrett gripped their father's staff, the gold aurum rod with the relief of Andraste at the top, leaning delicately on it. He nodded. Carver nodded back.

"So Meredith sends a babysitter."

Carver shifted, trying to gauge his annoyance and anger. Was it possible he didn't know what happened? But Carver couldn't imagine any way he wouldn't know. Surely Anders would have told him.

"The Knight-Commander felt that-"

"I really don't give a shit," Garrett said, shaking his head. "Well. If she wants to waste templars by sending them to hunting parties in Orlais, so be it. Come on."

He climbed back up into the carriage. Carver picked up his bag, tossing it atop the other luggage and tied it down before getting in. He noticed first the elven woman sitting sideways, feet propped up on the bench leaving just enough room for him to sit. Her top was little more than a leather bustier, which left a lot of skin for his eyes to travel across.

"If you paint a picture, it'll last longer," she said haughtily, swinging her legs off the seat. She withdrew a dagger and began to sharpen it.

Carver huffed and settled next to her, closing the carriage door.

"He had to wear the uniform."

Carver didn't meet Anders' eye. The mage was sitting across from him, hand protectively or possessively on Garrett's knee. It wasn't as if the whole of Kirkwall didn't already know his brother was involved with another apostate. He just wished they weren't so open about it.

"Well, everyone needs to know he's a big, bad templar."

The elf glanced sidelong at him. "So you're Hawke's brother?"

"…It's a common accusation," Carver said, after it was clear she was expecting an answer. Not that he couldn't throw off a ninety pound elf girl, but the dagger she was holding looked wicked and gleamed with a shimmery substance – some sort of poison, he was sure of it.

"So… strained?" she asked, looking from Carver to his brother.

"We're… simply on different paths," Carver muttered, looking out the window, resting his chin on his fist. He felt the stares of everyone in the carriage.

"He's an ass," he heard Garrett say easily.

An assenting grunt from Anders, a chuckle from the elf. Carver sighed. It was going to be a long trip.


	2. Chapter 2

The guest rooms at Chateau Haine were disgustingly large. Anders looked around, noting the king-sized bed, the four wooden posts carved with effigies of… he squinted, taking a step forward. Faeries? Yes. Faeries that were fucking. How lovely. The carpet was so thick he sank at least an inch with every step, and just a fraction of the cost of one piece of furniture could likely feed the whole of Darktown for a month. The sheer waste of it all bothered him. But not Hawke, who simply threw down his bags and fell face-first into the mattress.

"Comfortable?" Anders asked, setting his own bag down, slipping out of his boots. He couldn't be annoyed with Hawke's lack of concern for the opulence. Though it wasn't quite a vacation, it was the closest Hawke was going to get, and he deserved it.

They'd been instructed that the Duke would meet them in the morning over breakfast and the hunt would begin shortly after. They had the evening to wash up and rest, and supper would be sent up within the hour should they desire to dine. Anders crossed the room, looking out the bay window, down to the courtyard below. It was empty now, a lavish fountain and flower beds adding to the lavishness of the castle. A large iron cage sat off the side and Anders wondered what the possible use of that was, before deciding he didn't want to know.

"Mm," Hawke muttered. "Smells like lavender."

Anders looked over his shoulder. Hawke started burrowing into the covers. He laughed, shaking his head before opening the only other door in the room. The floor was made of marble and a large mirror covered one wall. Against the other, a bathtub that looked like it could fit five people easily, along with a shower head. Anders touched it, marveling at the plumbing. Not even Hawke's estate had these intricacies.

"Want to try it out?" Hawke asked.

Anders turned; Hawke was standing in the doorway, already disrobing.

"I don't think I get a choice in the matter, do I?" he asked, laughing.

Hawke shrugged. "You can stand and watch if you want. But it would be a lot more fun if you joined me."

They undressed between kisses, Hawke's wandering hands making the job take much longer than it would have ordinarily. Not that Anders minded. He and Hawke had been together for a while now, and he was always appreciative of his attentiveness. It made him feel loved. Wanted. Hawke was gentle with him unless he demanded more, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't try at least once. Naked now, he stood in Hawke's arms, back arching as calloused fingers ran down his spine, over his ass, and he yelped as Hawke squeezed.

"This is my favorite part," Hawke muttered against his lips.

"Oh?" Anders laughed, arms resting on Hawke's shoulders, foreheads pressed together. "Why?"

Hawke smacked him lightly, causing Anders' hips to thrust forward against him. "Because."

Anders grinned and kissed him, stepping back to turn the water on. A quick twist of a knob and it regulated to a comfortable temperature, and he pulled Hawke in under the gentle stream. Hawke groaned and leaned against the tiled wall as Anders pulled the glass door shut. It fogged quickly, steam rising from the hot water. Anders took up the washcloth and soap and moved behind Hawke, scrubbing at his skin.

"Maker… what did I do to deserve you?" Hawke breathed, leaning forward, palms flat against the wall.

"Apparently something very good in a previous life," Anders quipped. "After all, you're a complete arse now."

Hawke's laugh cut off into a groan as Anders drew the cloth lower. He turned slowly, capturing Anders' mouth in a searing kiss, pressing him against the wall. Anders returned it, idly washing his lover's back, trying not to think about the very thing that had been bothering him since learning that Carver would be joining them on this trip. As irritating as Tallis was, especially with her attempts to flirt with Hawke, she was tolerable. She could be ignored, just another person wanting Hawke's help, someone who thought Hawke was attractive. Anders was used to that. He understood that despite his mage status, Hawke was popular and well-loved among the people in Kirkwall, that they demanded his time and Hawke gave it willingly. Despite that, he belonged to Anders.

"Your beard," Anders laughed, as Hawke rubbed the wiry hair against his neck and chin.

"You love it," Hawke growled, hands pinning his hips back as he continued to kiss over his collar bone and chest.

Anders groaned. "I do."

"So shush and let me take care of you, love," Hawke whispered, slowly getting to his knees.

Anders licked his lips, nodding. The warmth of the shower relaxed his muscles as Hawke stroked him to hardness, and he moaned softly with the attentions of his lover. He closed his eyes, fingers threading through the thick wet locks of Hawke's hair, trying not to thrust his hips.

_"Put some muscle into it. He can't feel that, Hawke."_

_"Please don't call me that, Ser. Hawke's my brother."_

Eyes flying open, Anders pushed Hawke back quickly, nearly slipping on the slick tile. Hawke looked up at him, confused and concerned.

"Anders? What-"

Anders shook his head, and Hawke was there, arms around him, holding him, cupping his face. Anders peered into eyes that were dark green, not icy blue. He concentrated on that, reaching up to trace the scar that bisected Hawke's left eye, disappearing down his cheek into his beard. He kissed him.

"I'm sorry. A bad memory."

Hawke frowned. "Was it… Alrik again?"

Anders nodded, hands on Hawke's chest, trying to calm himself. Strong arms pulled him close and he felt safe once again, protected, invulnerable in his lover's embrace. Far from a wilting damsel, Anders understood his fears were extremely valid, the nightmares he had stemming from horrors in his past that others simply didn't have. Hawke understood, and never held it against him. The sleepless nights, the sudden mood swings or panic attacks, Hawke took it all in stride and loved him all the more. Anders wondered when the day would come when Hawke grew tired of it and left him. It was a constant fear, despite Hawke's assurances and promises.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hawke asked, taking up the soap.

Anders let Hawke take care of him, wash away the dust from the road, leaned into his touch as skilled fingers scrubbed at his hair.

"No. Thank you, Hawke. I… just need some sleep, I think."

Anders could tell that Hawke didn't quite accept the answer, but he didn't press, and Anders was grateful for that. They washed in silence and dried off, dousing the candles before slipping into bed. Hawke wriggled close and laid his head on Anders' shoulder, wrapping around him, eliciting a soft chuckle.

"What?" Hawke muttered, looking up.

"Champion Hawke, defender of Kirkwall, slew the Arishok in single combat. Cuddler."

"Leave that last part off my résumé," Hawke mumbled, burying his face in the crook of Anders' neck. "Have a reputation to maintain."

Anders kissed the top of his head and gently stroked his hair. For a while he lay there, holding him, thinking about the night that changed a lot of things. He'd been caught unaware, traveling through the Undercity back to his clinic. The smite hit him first, then a silence and a cleanse for good measure. He'd thought it finally was the end, the fear and anxiety he had running his clinic that someone had ratted him out for a sovereign. Or a silver. He blanked out and woke up naked, chained to a wall, with two familiar voices discussing what to do with him. He closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths and forced himself not to think of that night. After all, he'd managed to push it from his mind for years now, and Alrik was long dead.

Unfortunately, the other one involved in his capture and subsequent torment was not.


	3. Chapter 3

The whole visit had quickly become one convoluted mess. Carver shook his head as his brother explained what Tallis had told him, how she'd tricked them and oh how bad she felt after. Carver had half a mind to return to the elf and demand an explanation, but she was long gone and they were on their way to the city proper to find transportation home.

"And when you report to the Knight-Commander," Garrett was saying, "you'll leave out the part where the duke tried to kill us with his wyvern. They'll call it a hunting accident or something."

"But-"

Carver took an involuntary step back as his brother rounded on him, finger in his face.

"Not a word."

He wasn't sure what made him look past his brother to Anders, but he did, his eyes meeting the mage's. There was hostility, hatred there, and Carver looked away first. Seemingly satisfied, his brother turned away from him and they continued their walk. Anders glanced back at him, frowning, and Carver opened his mouth to say something.

And promptly closed it.

After all, what needed to be said? 'I'm sorry,' seemed like an insult at this point. And if Anders hadn't told Garrett, Carver wasn't going to be the one to share the secret. He shook his head and averted his eyes instead, staying silent as the stable master looked them over. There was a bit of haggling and they ended up buying the horses and carriage outright for a sum that equaled three months of Carver's templar pay. He tried to tamp down on the jealousy he felt as they loaded their belongings into the carriage. This one wasn't as nice as the one they'd ridden to Cumberland, the open top design not conducive to sleep or the weather should it rain. He didn't care though as he climbed into the backseat. He'd just be happy to get out of Orlais as soon as possible.

His brother took the reins and Anders settled next to him. Carver watched them as they left the city behind them, trundling down the packed dirt road. He hated the way they leaned toward one another, whispering, his brother's stupid laugh. The way Anders snaked a hand around his back to gently hold his waist, to kiss his cheek. Garrett glanced back at him at one point and rolled his eyes.

"What?" Carver demanded.

"You're sulking. What, trip not exciting enough for you? Not every day you get to fight a wyvern."

Carver scowled. "Just drive the carriage."

The hours passed, Carver sitting in silence, catching snatches of conversation between Anders and his brother. Their laughter irritated him, and he felt increasingly uncomfortable with each mile. Unfortunately the long trip left him a lot of time to think. Heading into Cumberland, he was able to listen to Tallis and his brother talk, discuss the mission at hand. While he didn't agree with stealing from the Duke, well, it was just an Orlesian after all. They could afford it. And when it turned out the whole thing was an elaborate hoax?

Carver shook his head. His report would be dull. Detailing the hunt, the party, and nothing else. There was no one alive left to contradict his story, and his brother would corroborate it. The Knight-Commander would have to accept that Garrett Hawke was an upstanding citizen even if that was far from the truth. And perhaps she would stop sending him on dull babysitting assignments. He leaned against the side of the carriage, gauntlets off, fist resting against his lips, deep in thought.

_"Oh we know who your brother is."_

_Carver frowned, standing in front of Knight-Commander Meredith's desk, hands grasped behind his back._

_"We also know who your father was. An apostate."_

_Carver held his tongue. Would he forever be marked by his father and brother? At least they couldn't use Bethany against him here. They didn't know her, had no records of her._

_"In order to ease my apprehension of allowing you into this most prestigious order," Meredith said, standing and walking around her desk, "I'm going to put you under the care of one of our best. He'll see to it that your intentions are pure. Ser Alrik."_

_Carver looked over as a tall, bald man entered the room. His cold, dead stare was unnerving, creepy. It gave Carver the chills._

_"Take good care of our recruit, Ser," Meredith said. "He's yours to train. Dismissed."_

Carver closed his eyes, wincing as the carriage lurched to a halt. He heard his brother descend, and looked over.

"Nature calls," he said, and headed into the woods.

"You didn't tell him," Carver said, as soon as he was out of earshot.

Anders stiffened, sitting up straighter. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because Hawke doesn't deserve that."

Carver scowled. " _Hawke_ doesn't need protecting."

Anders turned in his seat and fixed Carver with a glare. "He doesn't need to know that his brother is a rapist."

The word made Carver shift uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm not-"

"Not what?" Anders asked, his voice flat. "Are you going to sit there and tell me that it didn't happen? That you didn't watch Alrik string me up and whip me bloody? That you didn't pour magebane in my wounds and force it down my throat before you raped me? Go ahead."

Carver looked away, feeling the weight of his accusatory stare. "He forced me to…"

"So that makes it okay then?" Anders snarled. "I was willing to forget about it for Hawke's sake. I told him that Alrik did it, that it was all him. You know what happened to Alrik, right?"

"Look, I'm sorry!" he blurted out before he could stop himself. It was the wrong thing to say.

Anders gaped at him. "Sorr – You're SORRY?"

Before Carver could respond, he was swept up in a force wave of magic that sent him tumbling over the edge of the carriage. He hit the dirt hard, his plate metal taking the brunt of the fall. A shadow fell over him and he looked up, expecting to see Anders.

"Hawke, don't!" Anders said, getting down off the carriage.

"Get back in the carriage, Anders," Hawke said, looking down at Carver, his eyes flashing with pure hatred.

Carver had seen his brother look at him before in annoyance or irritation. This was neither. His right hand glowed blue-white, the beginnings of a spell, and Carver remembered his templar training in time, throwing a silence as he rolled away from the fist that was coming for his face. He tried to get to his feet, but his brother, even without magic, was faster. He was jerked from the ground, a cracking sound as a solid fist met his jaw. He tasted the coppery tang of blood, felt the pain resonating through his face. Another punch, and he tried to raise his hands to defend himself.

"HAWKE! Stop!"

Carver fell to the ground as his brother released him. He rolled to his side, coughing, spitting out blood. "I-" he tried.

"Shut up."

Carver fell silent, turning to look.

Garrett glared at him, then spat on the ground next to him. "Find your own way back to Kirkwall, _templar_."

Carver watched his brother pull his luggage from the carriage, tossing it into the mud. He took Anders' arm and pulled him back. Anders shook his head, but went, the expression on his face one of pity. The carriage rolled away and Carver got slowly to his feet, wiping blood from his lips.

_"No! NO! STOP! Carver, you don't want to-"_

_Alrik gagged him, then blindfolded him. "Go on, Ser Carver," he urged, pushing Anders' legs back._

_Carver's hands shook as he untied his pants, letting them fall to his thighs. He watched as Anders continued to struggle, trying to kick out of Alrik's hold. He pushed his smallclothes down, frowning as he stroked himself to hardness. Alrik smirked, doubling his grip._

_"Don't worry, Ser Carver," Alrik said in his oily tone. "It's just a mage, after all."_

_With every fiber of his being screaming to stop, to turn from this, Carver stepped forward. He wasn't sure if it was worse as Anders struggled and tightened around him, or when the mage finally stopped, accepting his fate with quiet sobs. And when he was done, Alrik had his turn, laughing that they should invite others to enjoy their new toy._

Carver sniffed, reaching up to wipe tears from his cheeks, shame and guilt burning deeply in his gut. He got to his feet and picked up his bag and gauntlets and started to walk. It would be a few miles to the next town, which would give him plenty of time to think.

He only hoped it wasn't too late to save his relationship with the only family he had left.


	4. Chapter 4

There were few settlements between Cumberland and Kirkwall. Hawke pushed the horses through the night and the next morning, and Anders kept silent. He reached for Hawke's bloodied hand, relieved when his lover let him. A breath of magic healed the split knuckles, and he gently wiped away the blood before entwining their fingers. They stopped to water the horses, and still Anders stayed quiet, not sure what to say. Would Hawke be angry with him? He'd been nothing short of amazing when Anders limped into the clinic after Alrik dumped him in some alley in Darktown. Hawke found him that night, helped him through the pain, frustration, humiliation.

He looked at Hawke now, his face impassive, but his grip on the reins was tight, his knuckles turning white. Anders frowned and reached over, taking the strap from him, uncurling his fingers. Hawke huffed, but let him. He leaned back against the seat, stretching his legs out in front of him, arms crossed.

"Are you angry with me?" Anders asked tentatively.

Hawke looked at him incredulously. "Anders, why in the Maker's name would I be angry with you? You didn't… it wasn't… None of that was your fault. You didn't deserve what happened to you."

"For not telling you that your brother was involved." Anders didn't look at him, keeping his eyes ahead on the road. He felt slightly ill, not wanting to fight or argue with Hawke regarding his motives behind his decision. He would make the same one again if he had to.

"I… no. I'm not angry. Frustrated. I wish you'd told me," Hawke admitted, uncrossing his arms. He wiped his palms on his thighs, leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees.

"And what would you have done? Stormed the Gallows? Called him out? Demanded his head on a spike?"

The silence stretched between them as the carriage lumbered forward. In the distance, the sun dipped lower in the sky and Anders shivered, shifting closer to Hawke who sat up and wrapped an arm around his waist. The anxiety he felt disappeared as Hawke's fingers gently stroked his side.

"I would have definitely talked to him," Hawke said finally.

Anders snorted. "Like you talked to him when you did find out. Meredith would have you in the Gallows for attacking a templar, Champion or not, Hawke."

Hawke shrugged. "I don't think so. She likes me being her errand boy. Plus she wouldn't want to draw the ire of the nobility." He paused, then added, "Plus it's only Carver."

Anders didn't laugh. "The nobles just like having you as a pet," he sighed. He leaned against Hawke, head on his shoulder. "A free mage," he said somewhat derisively. "But only as free as your leash will allow it. It's an illusion."

"I don't mind it. Not for right now, anyway. Keeping you safe is my top priority," Hawke said, holding him close. "I don't want to lose you, too. I can't," he whispered.

Anders frowned, thinking about the very large task ahead of himself, the possible aftermath. He would speak once more to Elthina to see if she would listen to reason, press for the Knight-Commander's removal. Or the appointment of a sympathetic viscount. Though he had no real hope for either, considering the last three years. And then what would happen if he followed through with his plans? Would Hawke stay with him then? Would he feel the same as he did now? Or would he decide that he, Anders, was too dangerous, too volatile? That Justice had taken over completely? Some days it felt like Hawke was the only thing keeping him sane. He tried to push those thoughts from his mind.

"I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to react the way you did. Carver's the only family you have left."

Hawke shrugged. "There's Gamlen."

There was a pause, then they both broke into stifled laughter. Anders was grateful; the tension was broken.

They took turns taking short naps, stopping only when it was necessary. It was dark when they reached Kirkwall, and Anders thanked the Maker for small favors. Hawke was able to sell the carriage and horses for a moderate price and they stole up through Hightown together, sticking to the shadows to avoid being seen by the guards. Neither wanted to answer any questions regarding the trip to Orlais, too tired and travel-worn to deal with even the friendliest of inquiries. After a quick wash, they collapsed together in Hawke's familiar bed, Anders turning immediately into his embrace.

"If I'd known," Hawke said, after a moment. "I would've found a way to leave Carver behind. Or made sure that you weren't alone with him. I'm sorry."

Anders scoffed, fingers playing with the hairs on Hawke's chest, feeling his heartbeat. "I'm not scared of Carver."

"No, I don't expect many people are," Hawke joked lightly. "But still. When I was locked in the dungeon, when you were with him…"

Anders shook his head. "No. I wasn't even thinking about it, honestly. I was too worried about you to give it any thought. He didn't say anything to me."

"Coward," Hawke growled, tightening his hold on Anders.

"I'm not saying he doesn't deserve some type of punishment for what he did," Anders said gently. "But I think maybe he understood. I don't think he would ever do anything like it again."

"Is that supposed to make it better?" Hawke asked, his tone venomous. "Doing what he did made him understand… what? That forcing himself on someone is wrong? Well, I'm glad he figured that out."

Anders sighed at the sarcasm and pressed his forehead to Hawke's chest, running his fingertips down his side, over his hip. "If it means one more templar who won't hurt mages, then-"

Hawke looked down, cupping his chin to pull his face up. "Stop. You want to turn yourself into a martyr for mage rights. I won't let you. It won't start here. What happened was wrong, plain and simple. There was no greater reason for it. There was no moral lesson. Alrik might have manipulated him, but Carver still agreed. He chose his own skin over yours and I can't forgive him for that."

"Then don't," Anders said, taking his hand, kissing his fingertips. "But don't hate him for it either."

Hawke grunted. "We'll see."

"You might end up regretting it if you don't mend the rift," Anders pressed.

"It's done, Anders. He may be my brother by blood, but that's all he is," Hawke said, his tone final.

Anders still pushed. "But family-"

"You're my family," Hawke snapped, so suddenly it caused Anders to blink.

"But I-"

"Are you going to argue that?" Hawke asked. "You're the most important thing in my life. Just like you said about me. I love you. You mean more to me than he does."

Anders swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the well of emotion. Deep in his chest, he felt a stirring of irritation, a reminder that love was a distraction, an unnecessary one. He took a breath and pushed those feelings away, knowing they didn't come from him. He would stay his course, no matter what. The mages would be free. But in the meantime, being with Hawke, loving Hawke, and having Hawke love him in return, it was an unfamiliar feeling of security that he'd scarcely felt before in his life.

"I love you, too," Anders whispered. "But if he reaches out, listen to him. Don't dismiss him. Will you promise me that?"

He waited, listening to Hawke's breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.

"I'll do it only because you want me to," Hawke said finally. "If it were up to me, I'd cut him out entirely."

"Thank you," Anders said, leaning up to kiss him gently.

Hawke pressed him back to the bed, rolling on top of him and returned the kiss eagerly. Anders surrendered quietly to his mouth, his touch, and let the feeling of Hawke wash away thoughts of the future just for tonight.


	5. Epilogue

"Garrett, wait!"

Hawke turned, staff in hand, Anders just behind him. Beyond them, Fenris, Isabela and Merrill stood impatiently.

"Hawke, the ship," Isabela urged, gesturing to the harbor. "I have to get it ready to sail. We need to move."

Hightown in a panic, Meredith dead, they'd had the barest amount of time to pack up what little they could, Isabela promising to take them away from Kirkwall. Hawke knew the Guard would be looking for them, or more accurately for Anders. He wouldn't let him be taken, not by anyone. Emotions running high, adrenaline surging through him from the fight, Hawke had no patience for his brother, even if Carver had turned against his Order, turned against Meredith for him.

"Carver, go back to the Knight-Captain." Hawke wasn't sure that Cullen was any better of an option than Meredith, but at least the man was sane.

"Wait," Carver said, jogging up. "Please. Just two minutes."

Hawke looked over his shoulder. "Anders, go. I'll catch up."

Anders scowled, shifting his staff to his other hand, gesturing toward Carver. "Like hell I-"

Hawke cut him off with a rough kiss, gripping the back of his head, fingers threading through the loose strands of hair. When he broke away, Anders was breathless. 

"Go with Isabela," Hawke whispered pleadingly. "I promise I'll be there soon."

Anders shrugged Isabela off when she tried to grab his arm and kissed Hawke again, feeling sick to his stomach. He didn't want to leave him. "Hurry," he urged.

Hawke nodded and Anders turned, ignoring the sympathetic look Merrill gave him as they raced across the docks toward Isabela's ship. He knew little to nothing about sailing, but listened to the shouted instructions. The rest of her crew responded at once.

"Oh just sit down, Anders," she finally said, pushing him onto a crate.

He hugged the bag of his belongings tightly to his chest and waited. A swirling impatience and irritation filled him as he looked up at Hightown, the fires from the destruction that he'd caused. Justice was a mix of elation and frustration inside him. The next few months would be critical. Once the news spread, the mages would free themselves. He had to be there. He had to help. And Hawke would be with him. He still couldn't believe his lover's reactions, the last couple of hours feeling like a dream as they fought together against the templars. And Hawke promised him he'd stay with him, that they'd make a future together. Whatever future they could have as fugitives. The shouts of sailors, the clanking of metal, Isabela issuing orders, it all seemed to be muted to him as he stared at the deck of the ship, taking deep heaving breaths to calm himself. 

It was surreal when Hawke finally returned, immediately kneeling in front of him, pulling him close, holding him tightly. Anders dropped his bag and staff, clinging to him. The ship lurched, but Hawke was strong and solid, and Anders slumped in his embrace. He felt Hawke's scratchy beard against his own stubbled chin, felt the whispers of a kiss against his cheek and ear.

"I'm here, love," Hawke murmured.

Anders nodded. "And… Carver?"

Hawke shook his head. "Don't worry about him."

Anders pulled back, cupping his face. "Tell me."

Hawke kissed him softly. "I promised him I would write. I can't forgive him for what he's done, but the Order's in an uproar now. Maker only knows what'll happen. I… I'll come back. One day. If he's still here. We might never meet again, but we made our peace."

Anders nodded, a cold relief filling him at that. His reasons felt selfish. He didn't want Hawke to regret his decision to choose him over family. But he _was_ family. And Hawke was his.

"Thank you," he said, pressing his forehead to Hawke's. "Thank you for believing in me."

Hawke smiled. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Next time you have a secret, trust me with it."

Anders swallowed hard, but nodded again. "I promise."

They kissed again as the ship pulled away from the dock, toward the horizon and their new lives.


End file.
